


How to Save the World

by seven77



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Brainwashing, Captivity, Gen, Human Experimentation, Hurt Peter, Imprisonment, Prison, Slavery, The Raft Prison (Marvel), Torture, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-06-10 15:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15294447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seven77/pseuds/seven77
Summary: Norman can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face from ear to ear. Parker’s eyes are wide. Nothing like the narrowed angular lenses of his bug-mask.“What...what did you do?” Parker’s voice shakes.  “T--tell me…”“I bought you.”





	1. The Highest Bidder

**Author's Note:**

> This fic spans (spoiler alert) a lot of time and three different viewpoints, so the beginning of each part will state the date and the character from whose point of view the story is told. For your sanity as well as my own.

**June 5, 2017 -- Norman Osborn**

“Parker…” Norman mutters when the file is slid across the table to him.

“Yes,” says General Ross grimly.  “The Spider-Man.”

“Haven’t heard _that_ name in a while.”

It used to be that the name _Spider-Man_ cluttered up the news almost every day, usually accompanied with the word _menace_ or _criminal._  That was before he’d been caught.  Before his identity was revealed. Before he’d been thrown in the Raft for illegal superpowered activities. Nobody really talks about Spider-Man anymore.

“How’s he doing?” Norman questions conversationally.

“He’s not _doing_ much,” the General informs him. “He’s in the Raft.”

“I know,” Norman says. “Where he belongs.”

“Well…that’s what we wanted to talk to you about.”

“You’re not thinking of letting him go…?”

Ross shakes his head. “No, of course not.  Can you imagine the public outcry if we let that menace back on the streets?  Not to mention how dangerous that kid is.”

 _That kid._  Parker’s got to be around 20 years old at this point, the same as Harry.  “What is this about then?”

“Well, despite the success of the superpower control acts, there’s still a lot of threats out there.  Threats that our military can’t match as it stands. Superpowered criminals, terrorists, causing chaos anyway they can.  We need to neutralize these threats, bring ‘em down.”

“How does Parker fit into all this?”

“Uncontrolled super-freaks like Parker are dangerous,” the General continues.  “But controlled, they could be a benefit, help bring order back to the world.”

“So you want to control Parker,” Norman summarizes.  

“We want _you_ to control him,” Ross corrects him. “And if you manage to find a way to do it, to harness the spider as a weapon, the United States government would be interested in buying it from you.”

“You mean--”

“We’re willing to sell Parker to Oscorp,” Ross says. “On the condition that you make a weapon out of him, and sell it back to us.”

A grin starts to spread across Norman’s face, but he suppresses it.  “I’m interested,” he states neutrally.

“Stark is also interested,” Ross informs him.  “We need an answer soon.”

Norman nods, his mind already made up.  “Let’s talk price.”

 

* * *

 

**June 13, 2017 -- Norman Osborn**

The hum from the forcefields fills Norman’s ears as he walks down a hallway of the Raft.  The forcefield technology is crucial, as it is one of the key things that allows the Raft to contain most of its inmates, but they also create a disturbing sound effect as a byproduct.  Norman feels he would be driven mad to be in here for more than a few minutes. And he really doesn’t want to be driven mad _again._

Hopefully it won’t take too long to inspect Parker and make the arrangements for transport.  He’s in the last stages of purchasing him from the government. He just needs to make sure he’s getting his money’s worth.

Norman passes some familiar faces on the way to Parker’s cell -- Rhino, Sandman, Electro… All of them glare at Norman as he brushes past.  But Norman is betting no one will be less pleased to see him than the inhabitant of the cell he’s headed to. A cell guarded by much more security, in a more secure and secluded part of the prison.

In the end, he is disappointed, however.  Parker is being kept unconscious. So he doesn’t get to see the look on Parker’s face when Norman shows up outside his prison cell.  As he is let into the area outside the cell, a guard informs him that _heavily sedated_ is the only state in which Parker receives visitors.

The cell itself is very small. It’s smaller than the tiniest room in Norman’s home (the half bathroom on the second floor). And that bathroom at least has a toilet and a sink. Parker’s cell only has a grimy looking toilet, crammed into the corner of the room. The only other thing in the cell is a small metal bunk, cemented to the ground.

Parker is passed out on the bunk, and he too is fastened down. There are several straps attached to the bunk that are secured around his arms and legs, restraining him to the bed. The IV with the sedative keeping Parker unconscious is in his right forearm, taped down. The IV pole stands at the head of the bunk.  There are also some kind of bulky metal gloves and boots on Parker’s hands and feet. Norman imagines their purpose is to prevent Parker from climbing up on the walls and ceilings when he is awake. He also sees metal cuffs locked around Parker’s wrists, which aren’t attached to anything. Norman assumes the purpose of these is to ensure Parker can’t shoot any webs.

Norman surveys the security measures the government has taken to keep Parker incarcerated with a wide sneer on his face. It’s amusing to see Parker all trussed up like this.  But he’s going to have to develop something a little more high-tech than simply tying Parker down and sticking some metal gloves on him. Norman tears his eyes away from Parker for a moment and glances at the walls of the room, seeing fist indents in the concrete. Seems a certain spider had a go at it with his super strength. Norman smirks, imagining Parker getting angry, getting so worked up about being imprisoned, and punching the wall with those clunking gloves on his hands.

Or maybe he was even trying to escape. Norman shakes his head in amusement, wondering if Parker knows that even if he broke through the multiple feet of concrete, there’s an unbreakable forcefield on the other side of every one of the walls.

But _yes_ , he thinks, his gaze returning to Parker’s unconscious form. He will definitely have to work something else out. The gears are already turning in Norman’s mind as he thinks of the way to do it. Controlling Parker will not be easy, but Norman loves a challenge.

He studies Parker’s unconscious face for a moment. He really wishes Parker could wake up right now.  He wants Parker to wake up and see Norman Osborn grinning at him from the other side of the forcefield, just beyond the bars of his cage.

But that will have to wait.  He can wait until the transaction is complete and Parker is transferred over to his property. They will have their talk then. For now, Norman simply stares at Parker until General Ross comes down the hall, stopping in front of Parker’s cell next to Norman and gazes into the cell as well.

“Well,” Ross says, his hands clasped professionally behind his back.  “Do we have a deal?”

Norman’s smile grows even wider, if possible. “I’ll take him.”

 

* * *

 

**June 19, 2017 -- Norman Osborn**

The last of the paperwork sits on the table in front of him. A US attorney, seated next to General Ross, is waiting for him to sign.  Norman glances again at the page on top. _Inmate 52832-054, Parker, Peter Benjamin (“Parker”) will be retained by Oscorp Industries…_ Norman smiles, tapping his pen against the page. He is just waiting for his lawyer to finish reading his copy.

“This last document is just a few more stipulations,” the US attorney informs Norman. “We just wanted to make it clear what you are _not_ allowed to do to Parker.”

Norman’s smile fades slightly and his grip tightens on the pen in his hand.  If he still had his super-strength, he would have snapped it in two. “Like what?” he asks.

“Just a few things,” Ross says. “Number one, you can’t kill him.”

Norman scoffs.  If he had wanted to kill Parker, he would have already a long time ago. Killing Parker would end the fun. Not to mention, he’d be losing his investment. He’s not going to kill Parker. “Of course,” he says.  “I’m not a monster.”

“Speaking of monsters,” Ross continues. “You can’t turn him into any more of a freak than he already is.  Can’t give him any new powers. Parker’s already dangerous enough, and the government wants his powers as is.  We don’t need another Hulk.”

“Fine,” Norman agrees begrudgingly.  He would have been interested to experiment with Parker’s powers, see what amping up the _spider_ in the man would do. Maybe give him fangs? Or grow extra arms? But he will have to accept this for now.  Anyway, he can always taunt Parker with the idea of it if he wants to.

“Likewise,” Ross adds. “You can’t try to fix him.  Can’t depower him.”

“I understand,” Norman replies simply. “What else?”

“You can’t let him kill anyone, you can’t take him out of the country, and you can’t sell him to anyone else.  You get sick of him, he comes back to us. You break any of these rules, he comes back to us.”

“I see,” Norman says.  “None of this will be a problem for me.”

“There’s one more thing.  It’s the most important.”

“And that is…?”

“You can’t set him free.”

Norman smiles again and bows his head.  “Of course.”

“Good.”

With that, Norman sets his pen on the page and signs his name.

“Congratulations, Mr. Osborn.  You’re now the owner of Spider-Man.”

 

* * *

 

**June 26, 2017 -- Norman Osborn**

Parker’s awake. It’s been a week since he officially became Norman’s property, but it took a few days to get the facility ready and arrange for him to be transported over. Norman still hasn’t seen him since he first visited him in the Raft.   However, he knows Parker was sedated while they transported him and secured him in his new cell in Oscorp. But now he’s awake.

Norman adjusts his tie, then calmly walks out of his office, heading down to see him. There’s still a lot of security to Parker’s new cell.  No one would be able to break in, or out. But luckily since Norman is the owner of the company -- and of Parker, he is easily let right through and it doesn’t take long at all to get down there.

Norman stands outside of the forcefield of Parker’s new cell, looking in on him. Parker is indeed awake, and sitting up.  He’s free of any restraints. The cell Norman has given him is bigger than his old one, at least three times the size. It has a toilet, a sink, a table, two chairs, and the bed on which Parker is currently sitting, his legs hanging over the side. He’s looking towards the back wall, not having noticed Norman’s presence yet. Norman waits.

Parker’s still looking around. Norman watches Parker inspect his own hands and feet, almost in wonder of seeing them without the bulky metal attachments on them. Parker then looks around at the furniture in the room before finally catching sight of Norman.

The look on his face is...priceless. Shock, confusion, fear, and anger. Parker visibly shows all of these emotions at once.  Norman once discovered that it was lucky for Parker that at least that hideous bug mask he wore hid his whole face. Otherwise everyone he fought as Spider-Man would have always known exactly what he was thinking. Parker’s face is so damn easy to read.

Meanwhile Norman makes sure he keeps a perfectly neutral expression as Parker jumps to his feet.  

“Osborn!”

God, that voice.  It’s been so long since Norman has heard it.

“Parker,” Norman replies calmly.  “Welcome to your new home.”

Parker’s eyes flit around the cell again before landing back on Norman.  “What are you doing here?” he demands. “Where am I? Why aren’t I--”

“You’re at Oscorp,” Norman interrupts to answer at least two of those questions at once. “I think you’ll find it at least more comfortable than a cage in the Raft.” Norman sees Parker’s jaw clench and his eyes narrow.  

“What did you do, _Gobby?_ ” Parker says with equal amounts of thunder and snark in his voice.  “How did you get me here?”

Norman inwardly flinches at the nickname, but he’s too giddy at Parker’s apparent uninformed status that he doesn’t particularly care at the moment.

“They didn’t tell you?” he asks, still keeping a perfect poker face.

“Tell me _what?_ ” Parker questions with contempt.

“They didn’t tell you,” Norman repeats. This time it’s not a question.  He’s just stating it, marveling at how... _hilarious_ that is. They didn’t tell him. They didn’t bother to.  And Norman couldn’t be more amused by that. He chuckles. “They just...what? Knocked you out, packed you up, and shipped you out...and they didn’t even tell you.”

“ _Tell me what?_ ” Parker asks again, louder this time.  He steps closer to the forcefield, towards Norman.

“Let me say, I’m glad to be the one to tell you this, Spidey, my friend, my funny little foe.”  A slight smile plays across Norman’s face at this point, but Parker’s going _nuts._ He marches right up to the forcefield and glares at Norman.  He looks so angry. His fists are all balled up and he’s shaking. He’s actually _shaking_ with anger.

“Then TELL me!”

Norman looks at Parker.  His hair has gotten long while he’s been in prison -- dark unruly waves down to his chin. Probably hasn’t had a haircut since he was arrested. He’s still wearing the ugly bright orange jumpsuit they had him in in the Raft. Norman’s just imagining him conking out in his cell in the Raft and waking up here...and no one ever told him what was happening. He just thought he’d wake up still safe in his little cell. He must have spent almost a year there. But he still has that spark in his eyes.  He’s still just a cocky kid. Still the same Spider-Man that bested Norman in every fight with his determination and his goddamn piety.

But Norman is going to _break_ him.

He can’t stop it.  He can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face from ear to ear. Parker’s eyes are wide. Nothing like the narrowed angular lenses of his bug-mask.

“What...what did you do?” Parker’s voice shakes even harder.  “T--tell me…”

“I _bought_ you.”


	2. Resistance

**June 26, 2017 -- Norman Osborn**

Parker throws a fit.  Norman doesn’t think it’s warranted.  Sure, he knew Parker would be upset when he learned what happened (he had actually been banking on it), but Parker is _trashing_ the place. He’s picking up furniture like it’s weightless and chucking it at him.

“Now really,” Norman says disapprovingly, as one of the chairs goes flying into the forcefield.  Now he understands why Parker’s bed in the Raft had been cemented down. “I don’t deserve this, do I?  All I did was inform you of how you’ve been bought and sold like a baby cow.”

BANG -- the other chair hits the forcefield right in front of his head. And okay, maybe he does deserve it a little... Norman still can’t stop grinning.

“You _can’t_ do that,” Parker informs him, his shoulders quaking with rage.

“But I already have,” Norman says with a slight air of mock-confusion.  “Hence, you being here.” He gestures around the room.

Parker punches the wall.  “That’s HUMAN TRAFFICKING!”

Norman’s smile turns into a smirk.  

“Ah, but you’re not _human_ , are you, Spidey?”

“I _am_ human,” Parker asserts, glaring at him.

“Oh yeah?” Norman says, raising his eyebrows.  “Tell that to the dent you just made in my wall with your spider-strength.”

Parker lowers his hand, unclenching his fist.  He glances at the deep dent he made in the metal and concrete, and doesn’t respond.

“Superpowers aren’t everything, Parker,” Norman tells him.  “All that power and look where you are. Helpless and trapped in a cage. I was a freak once myself, just like you. I could have ended up where you are.   You know why I didn’t?”

Parker still says nothing, so Norman continues.  

“Because I have _money._ Funded the research. Made myself a _man_ again. I saw where the flood waters were going. The superpower control acts were inevitable. It’s men with money who have power, Petey.  That’s the way it always is. And you? You were just a poor boy from Queens, selling himself to the Bugle to pay the bills for his sick little aunt.”  Norman laughs. “You may have beaten me down once or twice with your creepy spider powers, but in the end you’re just a dirt poor kid, and all that it’s got you is right into my lap. My little pet.”

BANG.

“My, my,” Norman says as Parker tosses the table at him again. “Looks like nobody taught you manners in that working class home.”

BANG. Norman doesn’t even flinch.

“I paid a pretty penny for you, Parker,” he says. “You should be grateful. You’re not in _prison_ anymore.”

“NO!” Parker yells. “Because I’m sure being cooped up in the RAFT was far BETTER than whatever the FUCK YOU’RE GOING TO DO TO ME.”

Norman laughs.  Parker flinches. “You’re right,” Norman says, setting his intense gaze on Parker. “You’re absolutely right. Because I _own_ you, Parker. Spider-Man.  Little delinquent kid from Queens. Fresh out of prison.  Get ready to learn to behave.”

 

* * *

 

**June 29, 2017 -- Norman Osborn**

This isn’t going well.  It’s been three days since Parker woke up and he is decidedly _not_ cooperating.  Not that Norman really expected him to just fall in line.  He’d be disappointed if Parker did, but Norman had _perhaps_ underestimated Parker’s resolve to make Norman’s ability to detain him as difficult as possible. Surely he didn’t give the guards in the Raft _this_ much trouble.  

But Parker won’t eat. No matter what Norman tries to give him, anything they put in the feeding slot, Parker pushes right back through, refusing to put anything in his body.

“Yeah right, I’m not letting you drug me _that_ easily,” Parker snarks at him, shoving a tray bearing a hamburger and fries right back through the slot.

And Parker won’t sleep. Norman knows because he’s got Parker’s cell on 24-hour watch, and he’s been told that all night long Parker just sits on the ceiling and stares at the guards. Norman’s pretty sure he’s intentionally trying to creep them out.  And it’s working.

For god’s sake, Parker won’t even use the toilet. That’s not to say he doesn’t urinate (although not _much_ since he’s even refusing to accept water), but after Norman accidentally let slip that he needed a sample of Parker’s urine, Parker has not used the toilet in his cell once, choosing instead to do his business in the corner of the cell.  Norman doesn’t think Parker’s had a bowel movement yet since he’s been here (not eating has probably helped this) but he’s pretty sure that would end up on the floor as well.

And Norman can’t even get anyone in there to clean it up, because the one guard Norman sent in there was swiftly taken hostage by his prisoner, and only released after Norman threatened to flood the cell with knockout gas. Since then, the guards have all refused to enter the cell, and Norman can’t blame them.

“You know,” he says loudly, standing outside Parker’s cell on the fourth morning. “You’re only proving me right.”

Parker’s standing on the ceiling, staring back at Norman, his arms crossed. He’s clearly avoiding having to walk on the urine-covered floor, but that’s not exactly hard for someone with his abilities to do.

“And how exactly am I doing _that_ , Gobby?” Parker replies.

“Hunger strikes. Taking hostages. You’re unbelievably ill-behaved.”

Parker rolls his eyes.  “Sorry I’m not bowing down to _slavery_ like you wanted.”

“This isn’t slavery,” Norman says calmly.  “This is me taking control of what is essentially a dangerous animal in the eyes of the government. And one that refuses to cooperate.”

“Dangerous animals don’t generally cooperate,” Parker says, gritting his teeth. “They tend to _bite_.”

“See, you _are_ proving my point. That’s right, Petey,” Norman says in a slow and cheerful way as if he’s talking to a young child.  “They _don’t_ cooperate. They urinate on the floor.”

Parker snorts. “Sounds like you shouldn’t try to keep one as a pet.”

“Oh, but you see, I’m actually doing you a favor by keeping you here,” Norman replies. “I can’t let you back into society.  You’re not even _house-trained._ ”

Parker glares at him.

“Oh, and let’s not forget you attacking people,” Norman continues. “If you were a dog, you’d be put down.”

“Woof,” Parker says dryly.

“Laugh all you want, Parker,” Norman says, shaking his head.  “But you’re refusing to eat, to sleep, to drink water. You do realize if I were to let  you carry on this way, you would die, right?”

“That’s kind of the idea, genius.”

Norman raises his eyebrows. “You’d rather _die_ than submit to me?” he asks with a slight tone of surprise to his voice, although he isn’t really too surprised at all.

Parker’s tone is serious now.  “You either have to let me die or send me back to the Raft.  And either of those things is preferable to staying here with you.”

“Ah.” Norman smirks.  “That’s it. You think you’re going to _win_ this way.  You don’t think I can control you.  Well, you underestimate me, Spider-Man.  You’re the same cocky kid who always thought he could win.  Who always thought there was a way out, even when it was his little girlfriend’s life on the _line._ Literally.” 

Parker’s giving him his best death-glare now. Norman’s smirk just grows wider.

“You never did believe in a hero’s dilemma, did you, Parker?  Well, it just so happens that I don’t believe in dilemmas either, heroic or otherwise. I’m not sending you back to the Raft and you’re _not_ going to die either. It just so happens there _is_ a way out. You _will_ be tamed, you disgusting animal.”

Before Parker can respond, Norman presses one of the buttons on the touchscreen of the control panel outside the cell. The button to flood Parker’s cell with knockout gas.

With a loud hiss, the gas comes out in a steady stream from the spray-heads in the cell. It’s a lovely green color and smells like peppermint, which is frankly a nice reprieve from the unyielding smell of Parker’s urine. Norman has always heard that spiders hate the smell of peppermint.

The gas works quickly, peeling Parker off the ceiling and sending him dropping to the sticky linoleum floor with a thump and a groan as Parker fights losing consciousness.  But the gas works well, even on superpowered freaks. It’s a special concoction that Norman had cooked up during his Goblin days. He’s already tested it on Parker in the past.

So he knows it’s guaranteed to give Parker a long and well-needed nap.

Norman’s already given the orders on what to do after Parker’s put under by the knockout gas, and once a remote body scan ascertains that Parker’s unconscious, he motions for the guards to go in.  They enter in slowly, fully geared up in hazmat suits. Since the new wave of superpower control legislation, it’s standard practice to ensure that those dealing with superpowered individuals are fully protected from possible contamination with such individual’s bodily fluids. Parker’s urine has turned this cell into a biohazard.

So it’s with rubber gloves, plastic coveralls, and full face masks that the guards go in and grab Parker, dragging him out of the cell and depositing him onto a stretcher.  Norman watches as Parker is strapped down with the strongest metal restraints that money can buy, before he is wheeled off to one of Oscorp’s labs.

Once Parker is gone, escorted away by a team of no less than a dozen guards, another team of Oscorp employees enters the cell. A group of his janitorial staff, also equipped with protective hazmat gear of course, storms through with hoses, mops, and buckets of disinfectant solution. They begin to hose and scrub the cell down, sterilizing it.  The mattress and sheets from Parker’s bed are carried out in a sealed plastic bag. They’ll have to be replaced. Everything else in the cell gets a thorough dousing with water and sanitizing chemicals.

Norman shakes his head at the trouble Parker has made for his staff, then goes to get a cup of coffee.  It’s going to be a long morning.

 

* * *

 

**June 29, 2017 -- Norman Osborn**

Norman has a lot of work in the technology lab to do (mostly looking over prototypes his team has built and approving specifications) so it’s around noon by the time he makes it down to the bio-medical lab where he’s sent Parker.

Parker’s now strapped to an examination table, with metal restraints around his wrists and ankles. There’s a feeding tube up his left nostril and an IV in his arm.  Two of his scientists and several guards, all of them wearing hazmat suits and some extra armor for protection, are watching him closely.

But the restraints and guards and armor are only precautionary.  Parker’s still unconscious from the gas, so he’s clearly not going anywhere.  Not for a while, anyway.

One of the guards warns Norman to be careful as he approaches, but Norman simply thanks him for his caution and goes right up to the examination table, slapping Parker on the shoulder, inciting gasps from both of the scientists -- since Norman’s not even wearing gloves.

“Hey, how’s lunch, kid?” Norman chuckles to himself as one of the scientists hands Norman his own hazmat suit to put on.  Norman sighs as he pulls it on over his shirt and tie. He knows it’s not possible for Parker’s “condition” to infect anyone else. The boy might be a little bit _radioactive_...but hey, so is a brazil nut.  He’s not going to turn anyone else into a spider. But rules are rules.

“Update me,” Norman tells his employees, adopting a more professional demeanor as he pulls on the face-mask over his smirk.

"Well, we're giving him a week's worth of nutrients, as per your instructions," one of the scientists responds promptly as the other checks Parker's feeding tube to ensure that it's draining properly.

"Good," Norman says  with a quick nod. Parker has always had that scrawny, undernourished look to him.  His _weapon_ won't.

"You can finally get that urine sample we need," Norman continues. "A stool sample would be helpful too. In fact, take all the samples you can think of. Take his urine, stool, blood, saliva, semen, hair, web fluid, spinal fluid, whatever comes to mind. I want to get as thorough an analysis as possible on Parker's physiology before we start his training. We need to know him inside and out, so that there aren't any surprises. I want to know him better than his own mother, so get that jumpsuit off of him soon.  Unless you think he was born wearing neon orange." Norman snorts slightly.

"Of course, Mr. Osborn," his employee responds. "We'll have a full report for you by this time tomorrow.  But..." He hesitates, glancing warily over at Parker.

"Yes?" Norman says impatiently. "But what?"

"It's just...what do we do when Parker regains consciousness?  Surely you don't expect his cooperation with our procedures?"

"I'd be stupid if I did," Norman says.  "Do I _look_ stupid?"

"No, sir," responds the scientist quickly. Too quickly. Norman grimaces, pulling at the collar of his plastic coveralls. They're uncomfortable as well as unseemly.

"Well then," Norman says.  "Then you know that _I_ know Parker isn't going to... _appreciate_ anything you do to him.  So my advice to you...would be to work in numbers, use precaution, go slowly, and..."  He looks over at the cuffs around Parker's wrists and ankles. "For god's sake, chain him up better. He's _Spider-Man_ , not your elderly grandfather with dementia and a propensity for trying to escape the retirement home.  Get some more restraints on this kid. Unless you want to end up with four broken limbs and the responsibility to explain to the United States government why you've broken a multi-million dollar contract, and to pay me back for my lost property?"

His employees shake their heads.  What Norman can see of their faces (which isn't much due to the full face masks they're wearing. He can only see their eyes through the lenses of their goggles) looks scared.  Good. If Norman's employees don't have at least a moderate amount of fear, he isn't doing his job. He wants them on their toes.

"That's what I thought,"  Norman says. "So, use caution, but be thorough.  Remember, I want a full-body analysis. If this kid has even got an interesting freckle on his ass, I want to know about it."

"Yes, sir," affirms one of the scientists.  He sounds the right combination of nervous and confident, and Norman is satisfied.  He nods, giving Parker and his feeding tube one last glance before starting to walk out of the lab, beginning to unzip the coveralls as he goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise we'll get Peter's perspective in the next chapter... Also PLEASE leave a comment or kudos if you like this story!!!!!


	3. Jailbreak

**June 29, 2017 -- Peter Parker**

Once upon a time, Peter’s spider-sense was actually useful.  It helped him dodge enemies, find threats, avoid danger…all that good stuff.

But ever since he was arrested, the damn tingling in his skull has only been a fucking nuisance.

_“You’re trapped,”_ his spider-sense likes to scream at him every single day.

Yeah, thanks, spider-sense.  Thanks so much. It’s called being incarcerated.

But right now it’s even worse.  It’s more than an annoying tingling.  More like a pounding. A hammering in his head.  It wakes him up, pulls him out of a deep, unnatural, chemical sleep.

The first thing he becomes aware of is the irritating feeling of something up his nose.  He immediately reaches to pull it out, but he’s met with a hard resistance. Something strapping his arm down.  He gives his body a shake, finding that it’s _all_ been strapped down.  Unfortunately, that isn’t too unusual of a circumstance for certain prisoners of the Raft, such as himself.

Then he opens his eyes, squints through a bright light that’s beaming down on him, sees the surroundings of a lab and at least a dozen hazmat suits busying around him and he remembers… He’s not in the Raft anymore.

Shit.

Peter’s heart drums in his chest as he looks frantically around.  A lab. An _Oscorp_ lab. And he’s strapped to the table like a… Like he’s some kind of...science experiment.

Shit shit shit.

His spider-sense intensifies, causing a ringing in his ears, but he manages to hear someone say the word “sedative.”  Moments afterward, he feels a pinch in his arm. Peter flinches, jerking against the restraints. A faceless hazmat suit is trying to force a needle into his vein.

No.  Nuh uh.  Peter put up with being sedated in the Raft, but he’s not going to let that happen to him _here._  He’s not going to let himself be put under in Osborn’s science lab so they can do... _who knows what_ to him.  Peter doubts he could even imagine the horrible things Osborn would want to do to him.  He doesn’t _want_ to imagine it.  No. No way.

Peter fidgets and squirms, making it harder for the hazmat suited figure to get the needle into him.

“Hold still,” someone barks at him.  More hazmat suits move in, grabbing him and holding him down.

“S--stop!” Peter chokes out.  Not his most eloquent moment, but his head is spinning.

“Just get the mask,” someone says.  And as Peter continues to struggle, an oxygen mask is forced over his nose and mouth.  But Peter’s pretty damn sure it’s not pumping _oxygen_ through the tubes.

He zips his mouth shut, holding his breath, refusing to inhale the gas.

“Breathe,” a hazmat suit orders, staring down at him.  Peter shakes his head. This is a nightmare. A very vivid nightmare.  All that’s missing is for him to be inexplicably in his underwear.

“Get a scissors.  He’ll be unconscious soon.  Then we can get those clothes off of him.”

Oh, _great_.  

Peter’s vision is starting to swim as he obstinately holds his breath.  He knows that his refusal to inhale is the only thing keeping him conscious, but he also knows that if he keeps it up, he’s eventually going to pass out anyway from lack of oxygen.  He’s not going to escape this way. It’s only an escape in the same way that a _noose_ is an escape.

And what’s more -- in his concentration on holding his breath, he’s forgotten to struggle against the hazmat suits.  There’s another pinch in his arm. They’ve gotten the needle into his vein.

No.  This is not happening to him.  He’s not going to be Osborn’s lab rat. He’s gotta get out of here.  He’s got to _escape._

His head is dizzy and his limbs are beginning to go numb, but that doesn’t stop him from summoning all of his strength to wrench at the restraints.  He tears through them with a groan, knocking the hazmat suits away from him, before tearing the needle out of his arm. Armored guards swarm him. Peter kicks at them as he tries to dislodge the tube from his nose.  It doesn’t come out. As he yanks on it, it feels like he’s tearing out his organs. Shit.

An alarm sounds.  Shit shit shit shit shit.  There’s no time for this. Peter rips the tube, leaving it to hang from his nose as he jumps off the table.  He casts his eyes quickly around the room, looking for the exit, meanwhile dodging and pushing away the armored guards trying to grab him.  He jumps over their heads, just letting his spider-sense guide him out of the trap.

Thanks, spider-sense.  Thanks so much. And for the first time in a while, that’s _not_ sarcasm.

Peter slams through the door.  More employees charge at him. Peter shoots webbing at them to ensnare them and keeps going.  Somewhere in the back of his foggy brain he remembers he was on a hunger-strike, and therefore shouldn’t be able to produce webbing at all… Which means they must have force-fed him through this damn tube that’s still hanging from his nose.  Gross. But at the moment, it’s actually helpful.

Spraying more webbing at the guards, Peter races down a hallway, followed by chaos.  Although he’s way faster than the obviously human Oscorp employees, they seem to be multiplying, flooding out of every little crack to chase him down.  There are at least three different alarms blaring, each one torture to his over-sensitive ears. And meanwhile, his own personal alarm pounds in his head.

_You’re trapped you’re trapped you’re trapped.  Escape escape escape._

Thanks, spider-sense.  Shut up now, please.

Finally finding a way out of the maze of Oscorp labs, Peter smashes through another door, heading to the lobby.  He’s almost there. He’s almost free. But just as he barrels into the lobby, with just one big room of just business people between him and freedom, he’s stopped in his tracks by five words.

_“Someone is going to die.”_

The words are spoken softly from across the room, but Peter’s enhanced hearing picks them up as if they’d been yelled into his ear.  He freezes, then locks eyes with Norman Osborn, who is walking slowly toward him.

“Not another step, boy,” Osborn continues as he crosses through the crowd towards Peter.  “Or someone will die.” He doesn’t say this loud enough for anyone else around him to hear, but it makes Peter’s blood run cold.  Every inch of him is telling him to run, but he knows all too intimately what Osborn is capable of. Although he wishes more than anything that he _didn’t_ know what an unstable and dangerous person Osborn is, he’s extremely aware that Osborn’s threats always ring true.

But as he watches Osborn walk toward him, Peter can’t help but keep glancing toward the door.  There’s only about fifty feet between him and the outside. Fifty feet and a room full of innocent people, some of which are starting to glance over at him.  Peter’s acutely aware that he’s wearing prison orange and has a tube dangling from his nose.

Not to mention -- his secret identity is gone.  The world knows who he is now. That’s a fact which Peter’s only really had to deal with in the abstract, having spent the past year since he was unmasked in custody.  He’s never really been fully confronted with the stares and hushed whispers.

He doesn’t particularly like it.

Tearing his gaze away from the crowd, Peter looks back to the door, then back to Osborn, who is slowly drawing closer to him every moment.  And funnily enough, the exit is staying exactly where it is.

“You really think you can get away from me?” Osborn chuckles.  “Go ahead. Try. Go on and walk out that door. I certainly can’t stop an overpowered freak like you.  But the military has their means. Don’t they, kiddo? For a priority like you, they’ll bring out the _big guns,_ won’t they?  And I know how much you love guns.”

Peter clenches his fists, narrowing his eyes on Osborn as he moves closer.  

“See, what’s annoying about guns,” Osborn continues.  “Is that they make a mess. Innocent people can get in the way and make a _huge_ mess.  And that’s what’s gonna happen if you run.  You’re gonna make a mess. Is that what you want, Pete?  You want to make a mess of innocent people’s lives? For some reason, I don’t think that you do.  I mean...isn’t that why you gave yourself up in the first place?”

How the hell does Osborn even know about that???  That wasn’t what Peter was expecting when Osborn said someone would die.  But it’s even worse because…he’s right. _Damn it._  

“I bet you thought I was going to kill someone myself.”  Osborn laughs softly. “Maybe I _was_ being a little dramatic, but it got your attention, didn’t it?  But no, I don’t even need to dirty my own hands. I’m just a businessman now.  A scientist. _You’re_ the fugitive, Spidey.   _You’re_ the criminal.   _You’re_ the one that’s going to cause death and destruction by breaking the law.  Not me.”

Peter can’t help but think that he would have preferred if Osborn had meant he was going to murder someone in this room.   _That_ at least would give Peter something to punch.  But he can’t _fight_ the entire federal government.  He can’t _punch_ the fucking justice system.

“So here’s your choice, Parker: you can take a step forward and I send a friendly message to General Ross to mobilize his army to capture you, and we get to see how many bystanders you can get killed in the process before you get thrown back in prison... _or_ …”  Osborn pauses.  “You stay right there like a good little boy and we’ll get you back in your cage where you belong.”

Peter grits his teeth in anger and frustration.  But he doesn’t move.

After a moment, the door behind Peter opens abruptly and Oscorp’s army of guards that had been chasing him finally catches up to him.  This turns more than a few heads in the lobby as Peter is surrounded by a few dozen faceless people, all of them dressed head to toe in armor and protective gear.  A couple of the guards start herding people away from him, instructing the civilians to back away for their safety. But one person is let through, slipping through the barrier of guards with a smirk on his face.  

This is the first time Peter has seen Osborn in over a year without an impenetrable forcefield between them.  And Peter really wants nothing more than to punch that smug look off the man’s face. But he doesn’t. It takes all of Peter’s self-control to just stand there while Osborn looks him up and down appraisingly.

“Tsk, tsk.  We’ve got our work cut out with you, haven’t we, Parker?” Osborn asks, shaking his head slowly.  His tone is clearly meant to sound concerned, but Peter can tell he’s enjoying this. “Less than a week out of prison and you’ve _already_ tried to escape?”  He lets out a dramatic sigh.  “Cuff him.”

Peter doesn’t resist as several of the guards grab him and yank his arms behind his back.  The only movement he makes is a slight wince as a thick metal set of restraints are secured on his wrists and severely tightened.

“I have to admit, I didn’t think you’d give up easy, but nor did I think you’d be _stupid_ enough to try to escape,” Osborn continues.  “Let’s be clear. I’m in the right here. You’re in the wrong.  I’m _your_ owner.  You’re _my_ property.  You’re not _allowed_ to try to escape.  It’s the law.”

Peter grunts as the guards shove him down onto his knees.  

“You... _don’t_ own me,” he grumbles out, glaring up at Osborn.  “And I’m never gonna stop trying to escape.” Just because this didn’t work… That doesn’t mean there isn’t another way.

“Yes, I do.  And yes, you are going to stop,” Osborn tells him as Peter is pushed from a kneeling position onto his stomach.

“Umph,” Peter huffs as a guard presses a heavy boot onto his back.  “You’re dreaming,” he groans.

“No, Parker,” Osborn replies.  “You’re the one that’s dreaming, I’m afraid.”  

As Osborn says this, Peter suddenly feels a sharp poke in the arm.  He jerks his head up in alarm. He knows the feeling of an injection when he feels it, and he’s _not_ on board with Osborn’s goons giving him his shots on the floor of the lobby without warning.  He flips himself over, knocking the guy who was pressing on his back off of him. He hears the guy cry out as he is thrown back, but Peter doesn’t really care.

“Hey,” he says, starting to get back to his feet, but he realizes he’s starting to feel unsteady.  He’s getting dizzy. Shit. “Wh--what did you--” What did they put in him?

“Calm down, kid.  It’s just a little sedative,” Osborn snorts.

Peter’s heart is drumming.  No. He can’t let them do this to him.  But his vision is starting to blur and he can’t stop blinking.  He stumbles slightly and a couple of guards grab him again. Damn it.  Doesn’t feel like that was a _little_ sedative at all.  Feels like a _lot._

“No…” Peter slurs.  He can’t let them put him under again.  The last time he woke up in Osborn’s lab…  He tries to push the guards off of him, but his arms are still restrained behind his back, and his legs are shaking.  The guards push him back onto his knees and then onto his stomach again. His squirming under their weight doesn’t seem to be doing much, and things are getting very fuzzy.  Shit shit shit shitshitshitshitshit.

“Another dose, I think,” he hears Osborn say calmly.

“No!”  Peter lets out a groan, fighting against the haziness.  “S--stop it!” But there’s nothing he can do as he feels another prick in his arm.

“Shhh,” Osborn hushes him.  “It’s Spider-Man’s naptime now.”

Peter’s vision is going dark.  He fights against it. He doesn’t want to go under.  This wasn’t supposed to happen. When Peter turned himself in, he’d been willing to spend the rest of his life in the Raft.  Not to end up in the hands of Norman fucking Osborn.

The year he spent in prison hadn’t been fun, but he doesn’t want to know what Osborn has in store for him.  He wants his freedom back…

But that’s long gone.

“Take him back to the lab,” Osborn says, just as Peter blacks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yooooooo please leave a comment and/or kudos!!!!


	4. Property of Oscorp

**July 6, 2017 -- Norman Osborn**

Norman can’t believe he underestimated Spider-Man _again._  It’s the exact same thing that happened time after time when he used to ride around on a mechanical glider.  He’d make plans to defeat the little wallcrawler, but even if he seemed to have the creep beaten, somehow, despite all odds, young Peter always seemed to prevail.  

But Norman has won now.  He _owns_ Spider-Man.  He has a government contract to mold Parker into a weapon of his own design.  He’s going to systematically pick the boy apart and put him back together how he sees fit.

That is, if Parker doesn’t _escape_ first.  

Norman breathes in a calming breath.  It’s been almost a week since Parker’s escape attempt.  And the boy has been down in the lab ever since.  But it still rattles Norman how quickly Parker broke out of there.  How much they’d miscalculated with those insufficient restraints and misjudged how long the knockout gas could keep him under. Norman shakes his head, pulling on a hazmat suit again before he goes back into the lab.  He’s been checking in on Parker every few hours, like clockwork, just to reassure himself that the boy is truly secure.

In a way, he actually _is_ glad that Parker almost broke out.  It proves that Parker is still the formidable foe he’d faced all those years.  That he’s still the stubborn, relentless “hero” that Norman knows and loves... Or is it _loathes?_  Well, in a perhaps somewhat perverted way, he did enjoy seeing the true power of Spider-Man again. The way he busted out of those restraints, fought through all those guards and employees, basically wreaked havoc in his lab and was out in a flash, so very nearly escaping.  It’s evidence that even after a year locked up in the Raft, he’s still got so much fight in him.

After seeing that again, it will be even more satisfying to Norman when he _breaks_ the kid.

He enters the lab.  And yes, just remembering how much Parker had fought to get out of here, makes seeing him strapped down on the examination table again all the more gratifying.

His staff has learned from their mistakes.  Parker is now not only strapped to the table with more than triple the amount of restraints, but there’s also an IV in his arm providing a steady stream of sedatives to keep the boy unconscious while the scientists perform their work. They’re not taking any chances with him waking up and putting up a fight again.

And if Parker was awake for the procedure they’re performing right now, Norman knows he would definitely be putting up a fight.  And that would be unfortunate, because it’s a very delicate procedure. If Parker even made one slight movement, the welding equipment would burn his neck.

But with Parker being unconscious, it’s going quite smoothly.  All of the procedures have gone smoothly. They’ve got a lot done this past week. Parker’s been stripped, scrubbed clean, and run through a myriad of tests.  All while he’s been sedated.

Yes, it’s been a peaceful week.  But they _are_ going to wake Parker up soon.  And hopefully, after this last procedure, he’ll be ready to learn to mind his manners.  

* * *

**?????? -- Peter Parker**

Chemical sleep doesn’t bring dreams.  Peter knows this all too well. He’s been sedated in prison more times than he cares to remember.  When you wake up from a heavy sedation, you’re not being lifted out of a dream, you’re coming up for air.  It’s like waking the dead.

One moment he’s being swarmed by Oscorp guards.  Shoved down. Restrained. A needle jabbed into his arm.

The next moment he’s jumping up with a strangled gasp.  He leaps off the cot, hits the ceiling, sticks there, and looks around.

This isn’t what he expected.  He clearly remembers Osborn telling the guards to bring him back to the lab.  That was where he had woken up last time. Strapped to a goddamn table. But now he’s back in the cell...and… Peter looks down at the bed he’d been lying on, then up toward the window.  His eyes narrow. Osborn was watching him sleep. Creepy.

“Y--” Peter opens his mouth to say something biting and sarcastic but he immediately starts coughing.  He tries again. “I--” Cough cough cough. Shit. How is his throat _this_ dry?  Cough cough cough.  Osborn’s just watching him amusedly.  Damn it.

“There’s water next to your bed,” Osborn says calmly after almost a minute of Peter just coughing.  Peter glances down at the glass and pitcher of water placed conveniently on a table next to the bed, but he doesn’t move from his spot on the ceiling.  He stubbornly tries to clear his throat until he’s able to gasp out a few words.

“F--u--uck...yo--ou,” he rasps.  He’s not drinking Osborn’s water.  For all he knows, there could be drugs in it.  And being drugged is how his throat got this dry in the first place.  How long was he sedated for?

“You need water, Parker,” Osborn says.  “You were unconscious for over a week,” he adds with an irritating smile, like he knew exactly what Peter was wondering.  That was not what Peter wanted to hear though.

“W--what?” he chokes out.  “A _week?_ ”  

“Yes.” Osborn nods.  “We had a lot of work to do on you, you see.”

Fuck.  What the hell did they do to him?

“Sorry you had to miss all the fun.  But let me tell you, Spidey, you’re _so_ much easier to work with when you’re sedated.  So quiet, so.. _.compliant._ ”

Peter seethes.  He’s almost afraid to ask.  But he has to.

“Wh--what…”  Cough cough. “What did you do to me?”

“My, my, you really _should_ drink some water,” Osborn says, ignoring Peter’s question entirely.  “At least get down from the ceiling.”

“ _What_ did you _do_ to me, you _asshole?_ ” Peter growls out, getting frustrated now.

“Uh, uh, uh.”  Osborn wags his finger at Peter.  “Down, boy.” He pulls something from his pocket and presses a button.

Immediately Peter experiences an agonizing jolt surge through him.  It takes hold of him, causing him to drop from the ceiling like dead weight.  He hits the floor, sprawled out. The pain fades after a moment, but it leaves Peter breathless.  He pushes himself up to his hands and knees, shaking. What the _hell_ was that?

He can hear Osborn chuckling.  It’s only now that Peter realizes there’s a slight weight around his neck.  Something metal from which the jolt had originated. Peter’s hands are trembling as they reach for his neck.  He grapples for a moment with the thick metal device locked around his throat. Upon realizing exactly what it is, Peter quickly tries to pull it off, but it’s no use.  Shit. This is bad. This is _really_ bad.

“You--you put a fucking _shock collar_ on me?” Peter gasps out, looking up at Osborn in disbelief.  

Osborn just grins.  Peter gets angrily to his feet.

“Okay, enough,” he snaps.  “That’s enough. I’m not your dog.  I’m not your pet. I’m not your slave.  I. Am. A. Person. And you can’t put a--ugh!” Peter grunts in pain, falling to his knees as the collar shocks him again.

“Actually, you’re _not_ a person, boy.  Not in the eyes of the government at least.  Hence, I can do whatever I want to you,” Osborn says as Peter lifts his gaze to look at him again, the pain of the shock slowly fading.

“Only because there’s an unbreakable forcefield between us,” Peter grumbles, pushing himself up to his feet again.  “But I guess you’re too afraid to--aaargh!” Before Peter can even make it onto his feet, he hits the ground again, getting hit by another powerful electric shock.

“Afraid’s not the right word,” Osborn comments.  “More like...too _smart_ to allow you to attack me.  For god’s sake, I don’t want to _fight_ you, Peter.  I want to _control_ you.”

Peter huffs, pushing himself up again.

“Do I get a vote?  Because I want to _fight._ Ow!”  He gets shocked again.  That’s _really_ getting annoying.

“Of course you want to fight,” Osborn says.  “Have I mentioned yet how uncannily you resemble a wild animal?”

“Stop.  Electrocuting.  Me,” Peter grunts, pulling himself to his feet again.

“No.”

“Fine.  Okay. As cute as this accessory is, it just doesn’t match my outfit, soooo…”  Peter reaches up to attempt to snap the collar off again, but to his frustration he can’t even make a dent in it.  Shit. What is this thing made of?

“Vibranium,” Osborn says, answering Peter’s unvoiced question.  “One of the few existing metals that even a freak like you cannot break.  “ _Extremely_ expensive, but you’re worth it.”

Peter groans, exerting all of his strength into trying to break the collar, but it’s obviously not working.  The thing is not coming off. He glares at Osborn, clenching his jaw.

“I’m flattered.”

“You should be.  I gave you a shiny new collar, new clothes.  You should be thanking me.”

Peter pulls at the clothes he’s dressed in, only now realizing that the jumpsuit he’s wearing is not the same one he’d been wearing before.  This one is stark white rather than orange, and has words printed on the front in bold black letters. Peter glances down to read them and pales.   _Property of Oscorp_.

“You like your new ensemble?  I just wanted to be sure everyone would know where to return my lost property if you tried to escape again.  Which, by the way, if you do, it’s gonna be shocky-shocky, mister.”

“Is it not _already_ shocky-shocky?” Peter huffs.  He’s already been shocked four times in the past two minutes.

“Oh, you’ve just had a _taste_ of it so far, kiddo,” Osborn says gleefully.  “Believe me, it can get a _lot_ worse.  But don’t worry, I’ll only shock you when you misbehave.”

“You haven’t even seen my misbehavior, Gobby,” Peter mutters, crossing his arms across the words on his chest.

Osborn chuckles.  “I think I’ve seen some of your worst, Parker.  You _did_ try to kill me once.”

Peter’s eyes flash at the memory.  

“ _Once,_ ” he emphasizes.  “While you only tried to kill me like a dozen times.”

“And yet you’re the only one of us that’s ever spent time behind bars,” Osborn remarks.  “What does that say about us?”

“It says you’re a filthy rich asshole and the government is corrupt,” Peter grumbles.  Zztt. Another shock bursts from his collar. Peter falls forward again, groaning in pain.

“No,” Osborn says calmly.  “Well... _yes._  But, no.  It says I _won._  Like it or not, Petey, I own you.  And you have to do whatever I want you to do.  And what I want...is for you to drink some water.”

Peter pushes off the ground, shaking his hair out of his face.  “Huh?”

“Water,” Osborn repeats.  “You’re dehydrated, Parker.”  He snaps his fingers and points at the water pitcher on the table.  “Come on, boy. Drink the water.”

Peter glances over at the water.  “No thanks.”

Zzztt.  He falls back down.

“From now on, disobeying me will get you shocked,” Osborn states.

Peter grunts.  “Not shocked. Doesn’t surprise me at all,” he jokes dully.

“Just drink the water, Parker.”

“No.”

Zzzzttt.

“Drink it.”

Peter just lies where he’s fallen on the floor for a moment.  His body is sore. The pain is no longer fading quickly. His hands are tingling.  Finally after a moment he gains enough strength to raise his middle finger at Osborn.

Osborn sighs.  “Okay, I tried to make it easy for you, but I can see I’m going to have to increase the voltage.  You sure you wouldn’t rather just drink some water for me like a good little boy?”

“I’d rather punch you in the face like a good little boy.  Is that an--uuuughhhooow!”

Osborn wasn’t kidding when he said he’d increase the voltage.  It felt like Peter’s whole body was dumped in acid for a moment.  That _burns._  And the after-effect is that Peter’s body is starting to go numb and stiff.  He feels nauseated. And...thirsty. Damn it.

“I don’t want to have to do that again,” Osborn says.

But when Peter lifts his head to glance at Osborn, there’s a wide smile on his face.  Yeah right.

“Then don’t,” Peter grunts.  “You have free will.”

“That’s true.  I do,” Osborn agrees.  “But you don’t. If you continue to refuse to obey my orders, the shocks will just continue to get worse and worse.”

“Bring it on,” Peter says sluggishly.  “It kinda tickles.”

“Drink the water.”

“Nah.”

ZZZzzzt.

Peter groans.  That _was_ even worse than the last.  His mouth tastes like pennies.

“Careful, Gobby,” Peter chokes out, picking himself up off the floor again with a huge amount of effort.  “I think Electro might have _shocking the stuffing out of Spider-Man_ copyrighted.  You keep this up, you could have a big fat lawsuit on your hands.”

“I don’t know why you’re being so stubborn, Parker,” Osborn replies, ignoring Peter’s comment.  “It’s just water. You’re obviously thirsty. Just drink it.”

“Like I’m just gonna _let_ you drug me again,” Peter huffs, glancing at the water.

Osborn laughs.  “The water’s not even drugged, m’boy.  And why would I even need to drug your drinking water when I’ve already proven I can knock you out with the push of a button?”

Peter’s eyes narrow on Osborn.  His spider-sense isn’t going off, which means he isn’t lying.  But okay, even if the water _isn’t_ drugged, he doesn’t care.  He’s still not drinking the stupid water just because Osborn said so.

“Just drink the water, Peter.”

“No.”

“You’re _really_ going to do this to yourself just to _spite_ me?” Osborn chuckles.  ZZZZZzzzttttt. “That’s just sad.”

 _Ow._  Peter feels like he’s going to be sick. That hurt.  That _really_ hurt.

“You’re suffering for nothing, you stupid little bug,” Osborn snorts.  “All you have to do is follow orders. Which you will, one way or another, I assure you.  You’re going to be tamed, Parker. You will be brought to heel. However much you want to be _tortured_ along the way...well that’s up to you.”

Peter groans.  His body is shaking from the after-effects of that last shock and he just wants to curl up in a ball.  Instead, he pushes himself up and looks at Osborn.

“Fuck you.”

ZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzt.

Ow.

ZZZZZZZZZZZzZZZztttttttttttt.

It’s just pain.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZt.

Just synapses firing.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzztttttttttttt.

He can handle it.

ZZZZZZZZZttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttttt.

He’s not gonna give in.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzttt.

Ow, ow, _ow._

“That can’t be feeling good, Peter,” Osborn says without a hint of sympathy in his voice.  “Are you ready to comply yet?”

Peter hisses from pain as he achingly lifts himself up again, getting slowly onto his knees, then pushing himself up to his feet.  The collar around his throat feels red-hot. He’s trying very hard not to throw up. He keeps his gaze on Osborn as he lifts a shaking hand to grip hold of the handle of the pitcher of water.

Osborn is grinning and nodding encouragingly.

Peter lifts the pitcher up and throws it at Osborn.

The pitcher isn’t made of glass -- it's hard plastic -- but it still _shatters_ from the force of Peter throwing it against the forcefield.

Osborn just frowns.

“Hmmm,” he says.  “Not quite ready to behave for me, I see.”

“I’ll never--” Peter starts to say, but is interrupted by his own cry of pain as the collar shocks him again, making him collapse on the ground again.  And this time it doesn’t stop. It keeps shocking him over and over. ZZzzt. Zzzzt. Zzzttt.

“I’ll let you be alone with your collar for a little while, kiddo,” Osborn says while Peter is still being shocked.  “Oh, and _when_ you vomit, please try to get it in the toilet, alright?  That goes for your urine as well. My team has already taken _all_ the samples we need from you for now, so you don’t have to worry about that.  I’d rather _not_ have to potty-train you, but I will if I have to.”

Peter can’t get a word out in response, as he’s too busy being continuously electrocuted by the shock collar.  So Osborn just leaves with a smirk on his face.

It’s unclear how long Peter lies there being shocked.  It feels to Peter like hours, but it could just as well have been no more than five minutes.  He can’t keep track of time when every single second is excruciating torment. He also has no clue how long he just stays there on the floor after it finally stops.  For awhile, he can’t move a muscle. Then finally he rolls over and pukes on the floor.

When he can finally stand, Peter limps over to the toilet, rips the front of his jumpsuit off (the part that says _Property of Oscorp_ ) and throws it into the toilet bowl.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments/kudos will save the world.


End file.
